Mill Town Girl Read online

  ‘I think they start off with a big advantage anyway,’ Norah answered. ‘They’re half daft to begin with.’ They had reached the park gates, where their ways parted.

  ‘See you later, then.’

  ‘All right.’

  Rose ate her tea as quickly as she could. ‘I’m playing tennis tonight with Norah, Mum. I want to be gone when Aunt Carrie gets here,’ she explained. ‘I’ll change into my tennis dress and go.’

  She buttoned the canvas cover over her racquet and placed two newish balls in her string bag. ‘I’ll put my white skirt on over my tennis dress in case Aunt Carrie sees me,’ she called from the hall to Mum, who was still working in the kitchen. ‘Bye!’

  When she reached the park gates Norah was waiting. ‘Did you get the tuppence ha’penny?’ Rose asked her.

  ‘No.’

  ‘We’ll go over the wall then. Come on,’ Rose encouraged her. ‘Let’s run up the avenue and climb into the courts that way.’

  They knew the exact spot on the high brick wall where their feet would find purchase between the bricks. Once on top they had to sit astride the coping stones and shuffle themselves along until they were above the courts. Then they would drop straight down on to the spectators’ area and wait until a court was free. Nobody checked, once you were in.

  Rose gave Norah a leg-up on to the wall and clambered up next. ‘Phew,’ she said when they were safely on top. ‘Push on, Norah, before we’re seen.’

  ‘The courts are empty,’ Norah called over her shoulder.

  ‘Get down quickly and bag the one nearest the gates. If anyone asks for our money we can run for it,’ Rose answered. ‘Go on. Jump!’

  Norah heaved her right leg on to the inside and dropped heavily to the ground, right on the spot Rose was heading for. She tried to swerve in her leap, struck her foot on Norah’s shoulder and felt her left thigh tearing on the gravel.

  ‘Dash,’ she said, lifting her skirt to inspect the damage. There was an ugly scrape, right at the top of her leg, at the back. It was bleeding, but not too badly. Her tennis skirt must have flown up.

  ‘What a cheek!’ Norah remarked with a solemn face. ‘I can see half your bum. Pull your skirt down.’

  Rose pulled at the leg of her cotton knickers, covering the spot. She winced but ended up grinning at Norah. ‘You are funny, Norah,’ she said. ‘Come on. I’m not going to let it stop me.’

  Because her leg smarted so, Rose lost the first game to Norah. She hoped the graze didn’t have dirt in it. She’d have a good wash when she got home.

  Norah won the next game too, through sheer determination. After that Rose started to win them all, but not too easily. Norah, scowling with concentration, would hardly let a ball pass her, returning even the ones that would probably have gone out.

  Then the courts began to fill and soon, Rose knew, somebody would come to claim theirs. ‘Last game?’ she shouted over the net. ‘I’ll buy a lemon cordial between the two of us from the refreshment place.’

  ‘Right.’ Norah slammed her last four services straight into the net. It was over.

  Rose pulled her long skirt over her tennis dress and they walked, tired but happy, to the refreshment stand. ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Quarter to eight,’ Norah replied. ‘We’d better run.’

  As soon as they had finished the cool drink they left one another, Rose running like the wind before Aunt Carrie could start fretting about her. Aunt Carrie’s interrogations were becoming a perfect pest. Anyone would imagine she’d something to hide. As she ran she anticipated Aunt Carrie’s questions and prepared her answers.

  Where’ve you been? To the park. To the park? What for? To play tennis. Who do you play tennis with? A friend from school. Have you come straight home?

  She turned into Wells Road, red-faced, gasping for breath and reached the gate just as Aunt Carrie came to the front door.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ Aunt Carrie asked.

  ‘To the park,’ she replied, leaning on the gate, panting.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Playing tennis,’ she said. ‘With a friend from school.’

  ‘Did you come straight home?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Carrie,’ Rose said wearily. ‘And I’m dying for a sit down and a cup of tea.’ This was cheeky and she knew it was. It implied that she wanted nothing else, not even to answer Aunt Carrie’s questions.

  Aunt Carrie let her go ahead into the living room but no sooner was Rose inside than she heard her aunt’s high-pitched voice at its most annoying.

  ‘What’s that on your skirt? Blood?’ she demanded.

  Oh. Help. Now Aunt Carrie would want to know how it got there. She’d be livid if she knew that she’d climbed over the park wall. Rose began to think fast but no explanation came.

  ‘What? I didn’t know there was anything on my skirt,’ she said. She turned her head and looked at the back of her long white skirt. There was a large bloodstain, more of a streak than a spot.

  ‘Oh,’ she lied, ‘I don’t know how it got there.’ But she prayed, ‘don’t let me blush’ and felt hot colour rise into her face.

  ‘You don’t get blood all over your skirt without knowing where it came from.’ Aunt Carrie was holding her elbow and screeching. ‘What have you been doing? Go on. Tell me.’

  Rose cast pleading eyes on Mum. ‘Can I have a cup of tea, Mum?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know where the blood’s come from. Honestly!’

  She hated lying to Mum but now she just couldn’t tell anyone. If she told Mum she’d hurt herself, then Mum would want to see where. And thirteen was much too old to show your bottom to anyone, even Mum. Tears stung her eyes. ‘Please, Mum! Make Aunt Carrie believe me! I don’t know!’

  ‘That’s enough, Carrie,’ Mum said. ‘She’s done nothing. You know as well as I do what it is.’

  ‘You don’t know, Mum. I haven’t done anything! I haven’t!’

  It wasn’t even as if she were telling Aunt Carrie a real whopping lie. Why did Aunt Carrie question her so? She dropped into the armchair and put her hands over her face so that Mum wouldn’t see that she was lying. She had to get out of this. Maybe if she said she felt ill then Aunt Carrie would feel sorry for her and stop haranguing her. ‘Oh, oh,’ she cried. ‘I don’t feel well. Can I go to bed?’

  Suddenly Mum was at her side, her arm around Rose’s shoulders. ‘Where’s the pain, love?’ she asked.

  ‘In my stomach.’ They would let her go if she had stomach ache.

  ‘Go upstairs, pet. I’ll bring you a cup of tea and a hot-water bottle,’ Mum said.

  At her words of comfort Rose broke into loud sobbing and hurled herself through the door and up the stairs. In her bedroom she pulled off the stained skirt. There was nothing on the short tennis dress but her knickers were caked in blood. Mum was bound to see it. She ran to the bathroom and washed her leg, rubbing furiously until all the dried blood had gone and only the tiniest cut could be seen. Then she coated it with Snowfire ointment and talcum powder so that it would be invisible.

  She returned to bed, lying quietly, as if she really were ill. Mum brought her the drink and the hot-water bottle and took away the bloody knickers and stained skirt. Rose began to feel calm again. She could hear Mum and Aunt Carrie arguing in the next room. They were trying to keep their voices down so she opened the door a little way and crept back into bed.

  ‘You know what it is, Carrie,’ Mum said.

  ‘She’s too young,’ Aunt Carrie answered. ‘She’s only just thirteen.’

  ‘Some girls start at ten. So I’ve heard,’ Mum’s voice came clearly.

  It was peculiar, Rose thought. Fancy making all this fuss about a drop of blood. And what did they mean? Start?

  ‘You didn’t. I didn’t. We’re late starters in our family. I was seventeen when I first had mine,’ Aunt Carrie was saying, her voice no longer angry. ‘And you’d been married two years before yours started. That’s why I was so against it.’

  ‘That’s not
to say Rose’ll be the same.’

  Of course it wasn’t. Mum was right, Rose had no intention of getting married when she was young, whatever might start two years later. She wished Aunt Carrie would just stop talking like this.

  ‘She’s not even developed yet,’ Aunt Carrie was saying. ‘She’s got no bust. Nothing. For all we know someone could have been tampering with her.’

  Rose went hot with shame. She had got a bust. Only it was still very small. There were hard lumps where before it had been flat. They hurt her, especially if she forgot they were there and bumped them up against things. She always wished the earth would swallow her up when Aunt Carrie talked about her and her body.

  ‘You’d better talk to her then,’ Mum said.

  Rose heard their footsteps, heard Aunt Carrie’s hand on the doorknob. She’d pretend to be asleep.

  ‘Rose?’ Aunt Carrie’s voice was soft and wheedling. ‘Rose?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This blood, love. In your knickers. It’ll happen again.’

  The tears were coming. Rose fought them back with tight-shut eyes.

  ‘It won’t Aunt Carrie,’ she whispered. ‘I promise. It won’t ever happen again.’

  But Aunt Carrie was not to be stopped. ‘And when it does, love, you mustn’t cry. You must ask your mother for some boiled napkins. And fold them up and put them in your knickers. And ask your mother for a clean one when it’s full. She’ll wash them and put them in your drawer for you.’

  Silent sobs were taking her now. Her shoulders were heaving under the covers. It must have been true. All those things the other girls said. Was that what they meant when they sat out of games? Was that why they cast their eyes up to heaven and said they were ‘unwell’ when asked for an explanation? She didn’t want to bleed.

  ‘Does it happen to boys?’ she sobbed.

  ‘No. Only to young women.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ll know when you’re older,’ Aunt Carrie said.

  ‘Who’ll tell me? Will you?’ She blurted out the words in her embarrassment. ‘And when?’

  ‘You don’t want to know all that,’ Aunt Carrie’s voice was sharper now, exasperated. ‘It’s better if you don’t know. Just don’t let anyone near you. Understand?’

  ‘I think so,’ she whispered, though she didn’t understand at all.

  ‘You must know so. If I ever thought anyone was going to touch you, I’d have him locked up! That I would.’

  Aunt Carrie was getting into one of her tempers now. I’d better say the right thing this time, Rose thought. Anyway, what did she mean ‘touch you’? People touched each other all the time. It wasn’t a sin. How could it be wrong?

  ‘I won’t, Aunt Carrie,’ she promised. ‘I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.’

  ‘There’s a good girl.’ Aunt Carrie got to her feet. ‘Just remember what I said. That’s all.’

  When she had gone Rose lay, wondering what it all meant. All this bleeding and touching. ‘I know,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I’ll ask Alan. He knows everything.’

  Chapter Nine

  Alan made the run up to the wicket. His bowling had not been brilliant all day but he knew this was a good one as soon as the ball left his hand. A Yorker! He heard the crack of hard leather on wood as the leg stump lifted and cartwheeled out of the ground. St Joseph’s had won by twenty runs. The wicketkeeper raised his arms and it was all over.

  There were a couple of house matches still to go and if he could manage to bowl a few more like that one he’d be in and the only sixteen-year-old to make it to the first eleven for ten years. Dad would be pleased though cricket wasn’t his game. Dad had been a rugby player in his youth.

  Spectators were applauding and he heard the light laughter and enthusiastic whooping from the girls who had turned out to support St Joseph’s. Alan pushed his damp hair back and glanced across at the group in their pale dresses, wondering if he had the nerve to ask Gerald’s sister to go to the Picturedrome tonight. She was about a year older than he was but he knew she liked him. He could just make out her dark hair. He’d been doing weekend work at the Swan for a year, so he had enough money to take her to the cinema. If she agreed to go he’d reserve one of the double seats on the back row.

  She was standing next to a red-headed girl in a yellow dress who waved a hat towards the field, yellow ribbons fluttering in the spring sunshine. The red-haired girl was talking to the team captain. The captain liked to play the charmer. Alan saw him put his hand under her elbow as if to steer her towards the tea tent. She waved again – to him. It was Rose.

  The umpire handed him his pullover and Alan followed the team, sixth formers mostly, to the pavilion where the girls waited for their brothers and their brothers’ friends. This was it. Gerald’s sister would be asked by the captain if he didn’t get to her first.

  He crossed the last few yards of the green and looked up at Rose who was holding on to the white-painted rail. ‘Were you watching the match?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been here all afternoon. Didn’t you see me?’

  ‘Did you come alone?’ He climbed the wooden steps and saw that the captain had moved away from Rose’s side and was now giving him envious looks.

  ‘No. There are one or two other girls from school here,’ she said. ‘One of them said you were playing for the firsts so I thought I’d come and watch.’

  Alan was taken aback by the transformation in her. He’d seen her a couple of weeks ago when she’d come round after school looking, as she usually did, ruffled and untidy. But it was no wonder he’d not recognised her today. Her long plaits had been cut off leaving her hair a bright haze of reddish-gold about a heart-shaped face. She’d discarded the thick stockings and black laced shoes and here she was wearing silk stockings and sandals and looking grown-up.

  ‘Let me change then we’ll have tea. Grab a table and keep a chair for me,’ he said. ‘In there.’ He pointed towards the door at the end of the veranda, where Gerald’s sister stood watching them.

  The captain was untying his spiked boots when Alan reached the locker room. He didn’t look up, but as Alan leaned across to unlock his door, said, ‘I don’t know how you do it, McGregor. Half of those girls are here to watch you.’

  ‘I wish they were!’ Laughing, Alan took off his boots. Then he said, hoping the captain would lay off her, ‘I like Gerald’s sister, though. I think I’ll ask her to go out somewhere.’

  ‘Who’s the redhead? The one in yellow?’

  Alan stuffed his boots into the locker and reached for a towel. He tried to be nonchalant and ‘used to it’ in the presence of these older players. ‘Oh. You mean Rose Kennedy.’ He stood at a washbasin next to the captain’s and pulled the white cotton shirt over his head. ‘She’s a friend of mine.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Fifteen, I suppose. Too young for you.’ Alan had to bend at the knees to look in the cracked mirror.

  The captain gave him a knowing look. ‘I’d wait a few years for her. What a knockout she’ll be!’

  Alan had never thought of Rose as a knockout. He wondered what her reaction would be when he told her that the captain of the first eleven thought she was pretty. Still, he had to admit that she looked pretty, dressed up. He’d not get a chance to talk to Gerald’s sister with Rose there.

  In the tea-room Gerald’s sister sat with her brother and two other girls. Alan saw her brown eyes follow him as he took his place next to Rose. He had changed into flannels and a blue shirt and he dumped his bag of cricket whites under the rattan table.

  ‘You look nice,’ he told her. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen you in a proper dress for years.’

  ‘Aunt Carrie bought these things for me,’ she said.

  He liked the short hair. It suited her. She had pale skin and a long slender neck, which he’d not noticed before. The yellow dress was edged with a rolled-back collar of plain silky stuff and it dipped in a low vee at the front making him aware o
f the shape of her.

  ‘Your aunt? Has she had a seizure or something?’ he asked.

  Rose laughed. She had a low, attractive laugh and Alan saw the captain, who had found a place at the next table, look at her with interest.

  ‘No. She’s taking me away. On holiday!’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I’ve got to tell you something, Alan. I’m really worried. Can I come round after supper?’

  Alan knew that the captain was listening to every word. He frowned, as he thought, significantly, to warn her to keep quiet until they were alone. Rose had a disconcerting habit of blurting out whatever was troubling her, regardless of where they were. ‘Shh,’ he said, trying to warn her that they were being overheard.

  ‘But, Alan!’ the pitch of her voice was lifting now and Alan knew that the captain’s eyes had never left her face.

  ‘Rose, shut up, will you?’ he said. She was impatient and impulsive and he was forever telling her to hold her breath and count to ten before she spoke or acted. She never heeded his advice. Now she was about to explode into one of her confidences, oblivious of the other people.

  ‘Alan! I’ve been waiting for hours to ask you something and it’s really, really important.’ Her eyes were starting to brighten.

  He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘tell me on the way home. I can do without the tea.’ He led the way and noted that Gerald’s sister watched him steer Rose to the door.

  They had to walk round to the front of St Joseph’s, the long red-brick and limestone school, along the wide gravel path that bordered the quadrangle. Gowned masters crossed from the staff door to the boarders’ entrance and Alan knew that a good number of the younger boys would be watching from the refectory.

  ‘Alan!’ Rose sounded anxious.

  He didn’t want her to tell him here, where the juniors were peeping at them from an upstairs window. He walked faster. ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Can I tell you now? Something really private?’

  Alan looked behind them. ‘Wait until we’re out of the gates, will you?’ he said.

  ‘Come on then. Run!’